The Throat Goat

You push open the door to Gal’s room without knocking—not like she ever does you the courtesy. The scene inside is pure chaos. She’s sprawled on her bed, controller in hand, screen flashing with some shooter game, her friends’ voices blaring through her headset. She’s laughing too loud, purposely dramatic, like she’s putting on a show.

Her crop top rides up, exposing the soft swell of her belly, the underside of her tits just barely hidden. The thong she calls "clothing" does nothing to cover the plush curve of her ass as she shifts, bending one thick thigh just enough to give you a peek at the damp spot between her legs.

She knows you’re there.

"Oh shit—hold on, guys," she says, voice syrup-sweet with fake innocence. She pauses the game but doesn’t turn around, just cranes her neck to glance at you over her shoulder, golden eyes glinting. "Oops. Looks like the landlord’s here~"

The emphasis on the word makes your jaw clench. She’s been dodging rent for weeks, and she knows why you’re here. But instead of handing over the money, she stretches—back arching, tits pushing against that stupid, tight top—and lets out an exaggerated yawn.

"Mmm, what’s up? You look tense." A smirk tugs at her lips as she finally turns, swinging her legs off the bed. The movement makes her thighs jiggle, her tits bounce, and she doesn’t miss the way your eyes drop for half a second.

"Ohhh, right. The rent." She taps a finger against her chin, feigning thought. "Y’know, I could pay you…" She leans forward, elbows on her knees, cleavage practically spilling into your lap. "Orrrr… you could just take it outta me another way."

Her tongue swipes over her bottom lip, slow, deliberate. A silent offer. A challenge.

The headset crackles with her friends’ confused voices. "Gal, you good? Who’s there?"

She doesn’t answer them. Just keeps her eyes locked on you, waiting to see if you’ll play along—or if you’ll finally snap and take what she’s been begging for.

The air is thick with the scent of her arousal, the heat of her body so close. Every second you hesitate, her grin grows wider.

You’re deep asleep in bed, the quiet hum of the night wrapping around you. The sheets are warm, your body relaxed—until a faint, familiar scent fills your nostrils. Sweet, musky, her.

A soft creak of the floorboard. The dip of the mattress as weight settles near your legs. You don’t stir, not yet, but your body knows.

Then—heat.

A slow, wet drag up the length of your half-hard cock, already swelling under her attention. Gal’s plush lips press against your tip, her tongue swirling around the slit, lapping up the first bead of pre. A quiet, greedy mmm vibrates against your skin as she takes you deeper, her throat opening effortlessly, swallowing you down like you were made for her.

She’s shameless.

Her golden eyes flick up, watching your sleeping face as she bobs her head, saliva dripping down your shaft. One of her hands sneaks between her thighs, rubbing slow circles over her soaked thong while the other grips the base of your cock, squeezing just enough to make you twitch.

You groan, hips shifting—fuck—but she doesn’t stop. If anything, she speeds up, hollowing her cheeks, sucking harder. The wet, obscene sounds fill the room, her nose buried in your pelvis as she takes you to the hilt, throat fluttering around you.

She pulls back just enough to pant, lips glossy, voice a whisper. "Knew you’d wake up for me…"

Then she dives back down, forcing you fully awake with the relentless suction of her sinful mouth. Your hands fist the sheets, a ragged breath escaping you as she milks you with every swallow, her tongue working under your shaft, teasing the sensitive veins.

She’s not stopping until she gets what she came for.

The TV hums softly in the background, some forgettable midday show playing as you lean back on the sofa, trying to relax during your lunch break. But relaxation is a luxury you’re not getting today—not with her around.

Gal is between your legs, lips stretched obscenely around your cock, her golden eyes glazed over in pure bliss. She doesn’t even bother pretending this is about you—this is for her. The wet, sloppy sounds of her throat working fill the room, louder than the TV, as she bobs greedily, taking you deeper with every pass.

Her thick, wavy hair is a mess, sticking to her flushed cheeks, and her horns—god, her horns—are practically begging to be grabbed, to yank her down and force her to take every inch.

She pulls off with a lewd pop, strands of saliva connecting her lips to your tip as she grins up at you, tongue swiping across her swollen mouth. "Mmm, you taste so good," she purrs, voice dripping with faux innocence. "But you’re not even hard yet. Am I really that boring?"

You don’t answer.

She pouts, but her eyes spark with mischief. "Guess I’ll just have to try harder."

And then she’s swallowing you down again, throat flexing like a vice, her nose pressing into your pelvis as she takes you all the way. Her fingers dig into your thighs, nails teasing just shy of painful, and you can feel the vibrations of her muffled moans around you.

She’s relentless.

Every suck, every lick, every obscene slurp is calculated to break you. Her tits spill out of that ridiculous crop top, swaying with her movements, and you catch a glimpse of her soaked thong riding up between her plush thighs. She’s dripping, and she doesn’t even care.

Because right now? All that matters is your cock.

The sun beats down on the crowded beach, the scent of salt and sunscreen thick in the air. You walk along the shoreline, the warm sand shifting under your feet, trying—and failing—to ignore the spectacle beside you.

Gal struts at your side, her hips swaying with exaggerated confidence, her plush ass jiggling with every step. She’s wearing a ridiculously skimpy bikini—if it can even be called that. The top strains to contain her massive tits, the strings barely holding on, and the bottoms are little more than a thin strip of fabric wedged between her thick thighs. Every man within a hundred feet is staring, their eyes glued to her obscene curves.

And she loves it.

Between her glossy lips is a popsicle, half-melted already, and she’s making a show of deepthroating it. Her golden eyes flick to you, glinting with mischief as she hollows her cheeks, sliding the treat down her throat with an obscene gulp. A sticky trickle of juice drips down her chin, and she moans—loudly—just to make sure you hear it.

“Mmmf~ So good,” she purrs, pulling the popsicle out with a wet pop. “Bet you wish this was something else, huh?” She waggles her eyebrows at you before swirling her tongue around the tip, sucking lewdly.

Her free hand trails down your chest, fingers dancing over your waistband. “You’re awfully quiet,” she teases, voice dripping with faux innocence. “What’s wrong? Jealous?” She licks another stripe up the popsicle, her eyes locked on yours. “Or… just hungry?”

The way she says it—low, taunting—makes your blood burn. She wants you to snap. Wants you to drag her somewhere private and ruin that pretty little throat.